


Love in the Ink We Shared

by GillyTweed



Series: Prompt Fics [12]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/F, Long-Distance Relationship, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8822689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GillyTweed/pseuds/GillyTweed
Summary: They became wives because of duty. They became friends because of the letters.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A oneshot for the prompt ‘Princess’ sent a hella long time ago. I personally really like this idea so I hope everyone else does too.

Love in the Ink we Shared  
Pairing: Clexa  
Rating: A-okay for Kiddies (K)

* * *

She sighed as the handmaiden adjusted her dress, ensuring it looked perfect for the ceremony. Her gown was white, as per tradition, long and flowing with a long train that she was certain she would trip on at one point or another. Her hair had been pinned up by skilled hands, and makeup applied to her face. Everything felt uncomfortable and heavy, making her long for her soft shirts, warm jacket and bare skin.

Her only solace came in the form of the paper in her hands. She fiddled with the bundle, some letters yellowed, while others were still a pristine white, all tied together by a leather tie. Each message was written in flowing script, by a hand she imagined as gentle but worn, calloused from wielding the sword of combat along with the pen of diplomacy. It was a hand she longed to hold, to slip their fingers together to see how they fit.

Gently, she toyed with the string, fiddled with the pages, catching sight of long dried ink. Each letter was special in its own way, giving her another piece that fit together to form the enigma that was to be her betrothed. After tens, if not a hundred, exchanged letters, she felt that she had a rather good idea of who her soon to be partner was, but having been raised around politics, she had always been a sceptic.

Ever since the day she’d been called into the throne room, her mother and father smiling at her as though they hadn’t made one of the largest decisions of her life for her, as though they hadn’t tied her forever with the heir of a rival kingdom. Her father, King Jake Griffin of Arkadia had stood from his throne and descended to greet his daughter, to gently hold her shoulders as he sealed her fate. At sixteen years of age, she had been handed the first of many letters. The first message from her bride to be. Crown Princess Lexa Woods of the Kingdom Polaris had sent her the first letter of many.

_She could remember reading it for the first time._

_I did not have a say either_

_I hope we can at least be friends_

_At least no one expects children_

She’d giggled at some things, through her tears and uncertainty. She’d taken some comfort from knowing that her betrothed was in the same situation as her, trapped by duty but willing to ease both their pain as much as she could. She’d responded much the same, conveying her uncertainty and hope in carefully crafted words.

_Is it a bad thing that I’m relieved that we both didn’t choose this_

_There is two, maybe three years before the wedding_

_We should try to get to know each other, yes?_

The response, delivered scarcely a week later, was written as though the author had just experienced a breath of fresh air. More loose and less formal than the first message, intelligence and wit shone through each word, although laced with what she could only perceive as nerves.

_Well, as the heir of Polaris, I am required to participate in military service_

_I enjoy the exercise that is required_

_Not so much the killing_

_In my free time, I like horseback riding_

_Swimming_

_Reading_

Her betrothed had been rather forthcoming, describing her general activities, dotting a joke or two among the lines. She’d responded in kind, offering the same amount of detail in return.

_My mother would never let me be a soldier, let alone near a weapon_

_I don’t know how to ride a horse, but I would like to learn eventually_

_I draw and read mostly, when I’m not sitting in court_

They’d continued this trend, sending letters back and forth, each message getting longer each time. With every new letter she learned more. That Lexa was two years older than herself. That she prefered diplomacy over war. That, if she had a choice, she would wear soft robes everyday, rather than her hard and stiff leathers. With each word she couldn’t help but feel closer to her wife-to-be, closer to the one she was destined to live her days with. And come the thirtieth letter also came a portrait, roughly done but clearly the face of a beautiful woman, and she found herself thinking that living to the end of her days with her may not be such a bad thing.

Come the fiftieth letter, they were sharing their wants and desires. Clarke had sent drawings of a house her mind had dreamed up one night. A white cottage with two floors, a balcony that wrapped around like an embrace. She added small details that combined Arkadian and Polarisian architecture, going so far as to order the acquisition of several Polarisian books on architecture so it would be perfect. In return, Lexa had sent a recipe for a traditional Polarisian pastry. Admitting, with some amount of embarrassment, that if she could, she would eat them everyday, her sweet tooth satisfied by nothing else. This fact had her giggling, then once calmed, she’d headed straight to the kitchen, determined to learn how to make said pastry, wanting to taste her intended's favourite for herself.

The sixtieth letter, about a year before the date of their wedding, took a turn in tone. She hadn’t heard from Lexa in several weeks. She hadn’t been particularly worried, knowing that her betrothed was helping with military exercises near the border between Polaris and Azgeda, a neighbouring country that was a bit less than friendly. However, when the letter did arrive, the edges stained with what she had uselessly hoped wasn’t blood, she felt her heart break.

Not because Lexa was dead, no. Her heart broke as she read her intended's words, took in the obvious tears that stained the paper. The normally smooth and measured script was shaky, written by a trembling hand. In this letter she learned of Costia, or rather how close Lexa had actually been with her.

In previous letters, Lexa had spoken of Costia, a fellow warrior and close friend, although apparently closer than she had initially thought. They’d been lovers, sharing quick kisses in hidden corners and meeting in the dead of night. Lexa assured her that once they’d been betrothed she had stopped any such activities, using words that betrayed her fear of her brides anger. She remembered feeling a sharp pain in her chest, sadness at Lexa’s fear of losing another person she considered a friend.

She’d read on, tears prickling in her eyes at the description of Costia’s death, not naive enough to believe that Lexa hadn’t omitted some things to make it more bearable. Her kindness never ending, even in grief. She read of her fiance's sadness, her pain and heartache, wishing she could be there by her side, to hold her close and soothe her anguish. She’d responded as best she could, message much shorter as she could barely find the words, assuaging her needless fear.

_I am here_

_I will always be here_

It had taken a long while for their correspondence to return to it’s light tone, as her own father had died only weeks later in a riding accident. Lexa had sent soothing words as she’d done, assurances that meant everything and nothing with the distance between them.

Eventually their topics became more light, sending jokes and gossiping as they had before tragedy. They complained about their respective friends and family. Lexa of her instructor Titus, how he “always seemed to have his undergarments on too tight,” and Clarke of young men who still tried to court her despite the official announcement of their engagement. On more than one occasion, Lexa had threatened to send official challenges for duels to these “Idiotic, self-entitled” and then a word that had been scratched out several times followed by “men.” The protective display had made her laugh as she imagined each man, Finn, Bellamy, and several others, trembling at the sight of her bride-to-be charging them, sword drawn.

_I could teach you so you could fight them yourself_

_More satisfying, I think_

She’d smiled and agreed readily, the idea of both of them both being capable with a blade rather appealing.

Again they fell into a routine of back and forth, telling of the days since they last wrote, of dreams they’d had or of small things that the other had thought interesting. Their conversations came with ease, each always having something to say. It wasn’t until their wedding drew near that the tone shifted again.

_I’m nervous…_

_No, I’m afraid_

_But I don’t want to be_

The last letter she’d received, just days before, was short. A few small paragraphs describing Lexa’s worries, of her hope that their conversations in person would be as enjoyable as they had been on paper. She’d responded with the same sentiments, meaning every word.

The day drew ever closer, tension rising as she travelled from Arkadia, her home, to the border. The wedding was to be held high on a hill, split by the lines that defined their kingdoms. Tents were erected, canvas placed carefully to separate the intendeds until the very last moment.

She toyed with the bundles string again, tightening the knot as the handmaiden adjusted and pinned the last fold of her dress. Ironically, she wished for one last letter, of one last message of reassurance that would settle her nerves and calm her rolling stomach. She wished for comfort from the person she was about to meet face to face for the first time, who she would be able to touch and hear her voice. She would have flesh and blood instead of paper and ink, and the prospect scared her more than anything ever had.

She folded within herself as she was led to the main tent, forcing her thoughts to be quiet. She wiped her face of all expression, fearing that if she allowed herself to feel anything, she would breakdown right there. Her mother beamed at her, her friends gave her congratulatory hugs.

Their excitement felt forced as the tent flaps were pulled aside, a wall of warmth greeting her as she entered. She kept her head down as she walked, music guiding her pace. Her heart pounded and she wondered what Lexa’s hand would feel like in hers, wondered how much warmth she would feel when they stood shoulder to shoulder.

When she reached the main platform, the platform where Lexa stood, she paused, taking a breath and examined the sets of shoes in her sight. Her eyes trailed upward, taking in the traditional marriage robes of Polaris, the slim hips they covered, the strong shoulders and slim neck, then her gaze ground to a halt, entranced by striking green. The pictures and sketches she’d received hadn’t done her justice. The charcoal couldn’t capture the small nuances of her features, the emotion behind her eyes.

Lexa swallowed and smiled nervously, shoulders stiff as she stood to attention. She offered her hand to help her betrothed up the stairs, which she took gratefully, noting the skin's softness with slight surprise. She couldn’t suppress the small smile as their palms fit together perfectly, how the few callouses that were there weren’t unpleasant to the touch.

“Hello, Clarke.”

Her breath caught at the sound of Lexa’s voice. It was low and level, a soothing sound that calmed her trembling nerves. Everything seemed to drop away, the quiet murmur of the crowd, the drone of the minister, all dulled to a faint buzz.

“Hello, Lexa.”

The brunette licked her lips, ducking her head almost unnoticeably. Her eyes gleamed when their gazes met once again, anxiety and excitement radiating from every pore. Clarke felt a small amount of pride at picking up these small signals, knowing her soon-to-be wife so well yet not at all.

The minister signaled for the official ceremony to begin, having their bonding cuffs brought forward. The leather wristbands had been a compromise they’d made together. Arkadia had traditionally worn rings to symbolize marriage commitment, while Polaris had the tradition of getting matching tattoos. Her mother had strongly objected the idea of her daughter getting something so permanent, hypocritical considering the permanence it was supposed to symbolize, and Lexa had objected to rings, stating she feared the damage it could sustain in combat as well as the danger it could pose to her hands. Thus, the wristbands had been chosen, dark leather and embossed with each others family crests, they held elements of both form and function that all parties had agreed to.

With trembling hands, they fitted the bands over each others wrists. Time seemed to slow as they clasped hands, creating a bridge between them. The minister droned again as they looked at each other, silently communicating their mutual fear. It wasn’t until the minister had bowed, stepping back as he announced “The brides may kiss” that she wondered how Lexa’s lips would feel on hers.

They both leaned forward slowly, breaths stuttering until they manage to connect. The kiss wasn’t extraordinary. It wasn’t mind blowing. It wasn’t “right.” The kiss was short and awkward, their lips barely moving as they became accustomed to the others presence. They drew away quickly, fighting down blushes as the gathered crowd cheered.

Before either could completely recover, they were whisked off to an extravagant dinner, placed at the head of a long table side by side. They were unable to speak as they ate, the awkwardness and discomfort that they’d feared hanging over them like a cloud.

Finally, when the festivities had died down, the energy of the guests dulled by alcohol and exhaustion, Lexa turned mouth opening and closing as she searched for the right words to say.

“Would you like to go home?”

The brunette finally managed to whisper, fidgeting with the seam of her napkin. She found herself nodding, longing for some quiet and a soft bed. They’d both already agreed in their letters that sex, while expected as it was tradition, would be discussed in person after their wedding night. It was a relief for both parties, not having to worry about that particular aspect along with everything else.

Lexa offered her hand, as she had hours before, Clarke taking it willingly and without hesitation. It was one of the few things that had felt right throughout the whole evening. How their hands seemed to fit together perfectly, like two pieces in a puzzle. The contact, paired with the knowledge that Lexa was just as scared as she was, gave more comfort than any hug or smile her friends had given her.

Her wife led her out of the tent, through the surrounding camp, and to a set of waiting horses. She drew up short as they neared the animal, Lexa stopping only when she felt the tug on her arm, face confused.

“I still don’t know how to ride…”

She said nervously, trying her best to keep the tremble out of her voice. Lexa’s expression softened, her thumb rubbing over the top of the blonde’s hand.

“I know. I thought this could be your first lesson, plus we aren't going far.”

She raised her eyebrow, looking down at the dress she still wore. The train had been thoroughly ruined, but that was to be expected considering the location of the wedding. The garment was restrictive, entirely wrong for any form of physical activity. She looked back at Lexa, who was grinning cheekily.

The brunette tugged her forward towards the horses and reached inside one of the saddle bags. She pulled out a shirt, pants and jacket, holding them out to her wife.

“I came prepared.”

She looked pleased with herself, preening as Clarke took the clothes. Her pride quickly sputtered out and turned into a burning blush when a small peck was planted on her cheek as the blonde passed, going to change behind one of the empty tents.

She changed slowly, her nerves once again returning. She’d never ridden a horse before, at least not since she was young, when her father had her sit in front of him on his saddle until her mother had forbidden such a “dangerous activity.” She drew out switching her clothes as long as logically possible, admiring the soft fabric and leathers. She felt a warmth in her chest at Lexa remembering her preference for pants and jackets. Once changed, the dress was bundled away, tucked into the saddle bag that had held her change of clothes, and then there was no more reason to stall.

She stood a little ways away, arms hugging herself as she tried to gather courage. Her wife just smiled, offering her hand again. It seemed to be a forming habit, one that Clarke was far from opposed to. Their fingers entwined, and the brunette tugged her closer, guiding her hand as she set it on the horses velvety nose. The animal huffed softly, but didn’t seem bothered by the touch.

In small, steady steps, Lexa guided her onto the horse, adjusting the saddles fit with focused care, and showing the proper form to hold the reins paired with calm instruction. Then, finally, they were off, trotting down from the hilltop camp. They’re riding for less than an hour, long enough for her muscles to begin burning, but the pain was quickly willed away at the sight in the distance.

On another hill, just inside the Polarisian side of the border, a white cottage stood. With two floors and embraced by a wrap around balcony, the balance of Arkadian and Polarisian architecture was flawless. The structure looked as though it was her drawing come to life. She stared, mouth opening and closing. She turned when Lexa laughed at her shocked expression.

The brunette was illuminated by the fading rays of the setting sun, softening her features as she grinned. Clarke swallowed, feeling tears of happiness in her eyes. Her wife handed her a yellowed piece of parchment, looking as though it had been folded and creased carefully many times. She unfolded it with trembling hands, taking in her faded drawing, running her fingers over the added notes. Measurements, comments and reminders, all in the flowing script that she’d grown so used to reading.

Sniffing, she folded it back up with shaky movements, straightening in her saddle as her emotions surged. Biting her lip, she looked at her wife, smile trembling with happiness.

“Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Lexa blushed, running a hand through her hair.

“I wanted us to have a place of our own. I know it was agreed that you would come and live with me, but I wanted to have a place that was ours, that was a home for both of us.”

Clarke scrubbed at her eyes, an unbelievable sense of relief overwhelming her. This gift, this home, settled all of her reservations. She turned her gazed to her wife, a full fledged smile breaking across her face. A feeling of calm and reassurance came over her, the tingling of apprehension beginning to fade.

She still felt some fear for the future, uncertainty still strong in her mind, but she felt a new sense of confidence and excitement. She wasn’t sure what would happen, how living together would work, but she felt eager to experience it. Lexa was quickly becoming a soothing presence, and with her by her side, Clarke felt assured that the transition into married life would be smoother than most. They were in this together, for better or worse, and she felt exhilaration at such a prospect.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to send in a prompt, have questions about my fics, want to talk about writing, or want really inconsistent updates on my progress, come follow my tumblr @GillyTweed


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